lib rary of congr ess. 

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Slielfi^i.l3l4- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






Idle Rhymes 



BY 



HELEN LOUISE MORIARTY 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. C. LIXI> 




CINCINNATI 
The Robert Clarke Company Press 



23 0^7" 









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Copyright, 1895, 
By Helen Louise Moriarty. 



Never did Poesy appear 

So full of Heaven to me, as when 
I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear. 

To the lives of coarsest men. • 

It may he glorious to write 

Thoughts that shall glad the two or three 
High soulv, like those far stars that come in sight 

Once in a century; — 

But better far it is to speak 

One simple word, which now and then 
Shall waken their free nature in the weak 

And friendless sons of men! 

— James Russell Lowell. 



CONTENTS. 



/■ 



Apologia, - - - - - 7 

Easter (Illus.), - 9 

3. Unsatisfied, - - - - 11 

4. Peace (Illus.). - l 3 
Estranged, - - 16 
O, Wistful Eyes (Illus.), - 17 
To a Friendly Scribe, - - 19 

5. Too Late (Illus.), 22 
9. Sonnet, - - - - ~ -5 

Convent Echoes (Illus.), - 26 

Musing, - - - - - 28 

12. The Corner Porch (Illus.), - - 30 

13. Many are Called! - - 33 
i^. A June Morning (Illus.), 35 

15. Some Day, - - - - "37 

16. Dorothy (Illus.), 39 

17. The Poet's Song, - - . - 41 

18. A Snowy Night (Illus.), - 43 
[9. Inconsistency — Contentment, - 45 

20. Thoughts after a Sermon ( Illus. i. - 46 

21. Dreams, - - - 49 
Unrest ( Illus.), - 50 
The Sleeper ( Illus.), - - 52 
Finis (Illus.), - 55 




APOLOGIA. 

A humble singer on a shadowy slope, 
Begun one morn to chant a simple lay. 
Weak was her voice, her harp not strung to 
play 

Anthems sublime — she only sung of hope. 



Too weak her voice to reach the bolder 
heights 
Where laurel bends in green profusion round. 
Where happy voices bid the air resound, 

And glorious singers taste of Fame's de- 
lights. 



g APOLOGIA. 

Too weak her voice and homely far her lays, 
Toward themes intense her thoughts were never 

turned, 
And vet within her soul such fires burned, 

As led the bards of old thro' triumph's ways. 

And so .she sung, nor had she wish to cope 
With singers grand, whose anthems reach the 

skies. 
Her only meed the praise in friendly eyes, 

This humble singer on a shadowy slope. 







EASTER. 

Hark ! To the tuneful glory 

Of Easter bells ! 
Eist ! To the old, old story 

Their music tells. 
Clear on the air outpealing 

In joy sublime 
Gently the words come stealing 

•* ' T is Easter time !" 



Hark ! To the bells now singing 

The tale of Eld ! 
New hope to sad hearts bringing 

In bondage held. 



(9) 



10 



EASTER. 



List! For they sing, " mortals, 

Be blind no more ; 
Enter the longed-for portals — 

God's open door !" 



UNSA TISFIED. \ \ 



IN SATISFIED. 

We sigh for Happiness, and when she's come 

With lagging step to meet us on our way, 
Draped in strange garments, and with lips all 
dumb, 
And eyes that mock our actions, grave or 
gay ; 
We sigh again for visions that have vanished, 

The glorious image we had builded up, 
Whose tender hands would skillfully have ban- 
ished 
The bitter dregs that lurk within our cup. 

We sigh, perhaps, for Love, and when he halts 
Our hurrying footsteps with his magic darts, 

We shrink and shudder at the rash assaults. 
Striving to hide our wounded, quivering 
hearts, 

And sigh again, while from the echoing deeps, 
Rise the illusions of our life's young day : 

Stirling within our souls the song that leaps 



12 UNSATISFIED. 

Like mountain stream to meet Love on his 
way. 

We sigh again for Peace, O restless, weary 
sigh ! 

We sigh for Peace, and lo! she passes heed- 
less by ! 



S^ *0S» 




PEACE 



Peace be to ye ! Spake the Master, words that 

ring the ages through. 
Falling still on weary spirits, as the drops of 

Heaven's own dew. 

Peace be to ye ! Still we hear it, tho' the cent- 
uries gaunt have furled 

Time's old flag above the ramparts of a doubt- 
ing, struggling world. 



Peace be to ye ! Falls the message, and our 

anxious hearts find rest, 

Calmed are all the waves of sorrow surging 

thro' the aching breast. 

(13) 



J4 PEACE. 

Peace be to )e! And forever! Peace may 

wander far away, 
Comes she back to find us waiting, patiently 

the livelong day. 

Comes she back to find us weeping, o*er a 
bruised and broken heart. 

Till she folds her wings about us, sternly bid- 
ding grief depart. 

Bright-winged Peace ! The artist paints thee, 

as a maid of winsome face, 
Sunlit hair, soft eyes that rival wintry stars in 

realms of space. 

But no artist's gifted pencil can thy soothing 
power portray, 

As thy words fall on our spirits like the fount- 
ain's welcome spray. 

Peace, beloved of God, His angels guide thee 

with mysterious wands, 
Into homes, where hearts are heavy, from the 

weight of sorrow's bands. 

Guide thee where sad tears are falling, and the 

moan of breaking hearts, 
Still is heard above the tumult in the AVorld's 

deceptive marts. 



PEACE. 15 

'T is thy work, for He has willed thee, 'mid 
Earth's desolate spots to roam, 

Lifting Heavenward drooping spirits, lighting 
many a darkened home. 

As thou floatest gently toward us, drying up 

our waste of tears, 
In thy wake there looms a vision, Hope, thy 

sister sweet, appears. 



1(5 ESTRANGED. 



ESTRANGED. 

I had a friend I loved — 

Friend by the tie of blood, 
By whom thro' time and change 

My heart's best wishes stood. 
Though changes came 

And loosed the chain 
That bound our love together, 

Mine walks alone, 

All unbeknown, 
Through darkest wintry weather. 

And she has found a love 

Stronger by far than mine, 
To which her heart may cling 

Thro 1 storm and in sunshine. 
But still I pray 

That, day by day, 
As the years pass briefly on, 

Her life may be 

From sorrow free 
Till the Heavenly day shall dawn. 




O WISTFUL EYES! 

() wistful eyes, where shadow lies 

That love can ne'er dispel ! 
dainty lips, where Cupid sips, 

The nectar he loves well ! 
() radiant smile, a loving wile, 

That lures my heart away ! 
O warm, soft hand, whose least command, 

My will must e'er obey! 



() eyes once bright, whose earthly light 
Fate quenched with ruthless hands, 

(17) 



18 O WISTFUL EYES. 

Thy beauty hid, each fringed lid 
Opes now in heavenly lands ! 

O tender heart, from thee to part 
Seems death ! My one relief 

Thy glances sweet, in dreams to meet, 
Tho' waked again to grief. 

O fair lost love, to thee above 

My fainting spirit calls! 
Thy mem'ry here is like the tear, 

That trembling, never falls ! 
O eyes so blue, O heart so true, 

My best days died with thee, 
And so I live on thoughts that give 

Thy image back to me. 



TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. \\) 



TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. 

Speak to your Muse about me, 

My Sprite has strayed away. 
In new strange lands without me 

She takes her aerial way. 
Often we strayed together, 

My fair lost Muse and I, 
But in the wintry weather 

She sought a softer sky. 

I fear me much I teased her, 

By careless ways and dreams. 
My serious moods appeased her, 

And won her brightest gleams. 
But still I held her lightly, 

And let my fancy stray 
To hopes that shone so brightly— 

Alas, now flown away ! 

I fear, tho' she may wander 
In far and mystic ways, 

She oft must rest and ponder 
On the sweet bygone days. 



20 TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. 

When dreaming, we searched the meadows 

For the flowers of Poesie, 
That grow in the deepest shadows, 

By Life's immortal tree. 

Speak to your Muse, when wooing 

The strain you long to grasp. 
Tell her of my undoing — 

The Sprite I fain would clasp 
Has fled to fields elysian. 

When bathed in morning dew, 
She stands, a beauteous vision, 

To glad the chosen few. 

Speak to your Muse when lingering 

With Pan beside the sea, 
You watch the magic fingering 

That sets your fancy free. 
Speak, while the listening ocean 

Absorbs the wild refrain, 
And tells in eternal motion 

Its sweetness o'er again. 

Speak, and your Muse attending 

Shall wing her airy flight, 
And far-off heights ascending 

Shall find my wandering Sprite, 



TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. ->\ 

Who, listing then to the story — 

A soul's repentant say — 
Will turn from the fields of glory 

To brighten my path alway. 




TOO LATE. 

Adown the lane he wandered in the gloaming ; 

His step was slow, wistful and sad his eye. 
To childhood's home, after long years of roam- 
in <y 

He was returning now, perhaps to die. 



When first he left it life was fair, and joyous 
Pleasures too many for his hands to grasp; 
(22) 



TOO LATE. 23 

But joys once ours, too soon begin to cloy us, 
While some fore'er elude our eager clasp. 

Fame came to him, in foreign lands he wooed 
her : 

But at her best she proved a fickle jade ; 
In vain for constant love he often sued her, 

Too many at her shrine their court had paid. 

At length grown weary of the restless dreaming 

And fitful fortunes of the farce called life, 
He turned his face toward that fair haven 
teeming 
With thoughts of youthful days debarred 
from strife. 

The dear old home ! Once bright with happy 
laughter 
Of children clustered 'round the mother's 
knee, 
Where romping games had made the brown 
old rafters 
Ring back gay echoes to their careless glee. 

Will it be changed? He ponders, pausing 
sadly, 

Dreading the turn that brings it to his view, 
Calling to mind the day when turning gladly 

He waved his hand in one Ions, Inst adieu. 



24 TOO LATE. 

He rounds the turn — one look and all is ended. 

The hopes, the fears, that ever held a part 
Of half-formed wishes that for years had blended 

With every quick pulsation of his heart ! 

This was the ending then of dreams and long- 
ings ! 
These charred remains — that blackened heap 
of stone — 
The moldering witnesses of last belongings, 
Mute, touching signs of what was once his 
home. 



SONNET. 25 



SOX NET. 

" Great souls attract sorrows, as mountains, tem- 
pests." — Jean Paul Richter, 

Great souls are those whom Sorrow broods 

among. 
High-souled herself, she tests them by her own, 
That by repeated tests has greater grown, 
Since first the narrow path her young feet trod, 
Her trembling hands held by a loving God, 
And won the crown, high from His throne out- 
flung. 
The crown of Sorrow ! Fashioned 'mid angels' 

tears, 
Of shining leaves that hide the pricking thorn. 
Fashioned for myriad children, yet unborn. 
Whose heritage 't will be, that they may know 
The price that Calvary paid to stem the flow 
Of man's iniquities through all the years. 
And knowing, learn the truth that sorrow 

brings, 
The crown that glorifies, e'en hath its stinsrs. 



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CONVENT ECHOES. 

Clear on the air, their pulsing cadence pealing, 

I hear a sweet refrain, 
While o'er my thoughts a mist is gently stealing, 

And mem'ries come again. 

Of quiet halls where dusk is slow descending, 
Where peace has spread her wings. 

Soft music in the distance only lending 
More charms where twilight clings. 

Anon appear the black robed nuns, their faces 

Serene in sweet repose ; 
Across their brows the world has left no traces 

Of earthly dreams or woes. 
(26) 



CONTENT ECHOES. •>' 

Now loud on air the organ music swelling. 

They reach the chapel door — 
The sweet faint incense stealing upward, telling 

T is Benediction's hour. 

Now low-bowed heads, and hearts to Him 
ascending 

On incense laden air. 
Ah surely Heaven must smile with ear attending 

The nuns* low whispered prayer. 

Fond mem'ry lingers on those dim old hall- 
ways — 

Lingers and drops a tear, 
And kind affection drapes the picture always 

Thro' each succeeding year. 



28 MUSING. 



MUSING. 

Some fateful years drift silently and slow, 
Some quickly — for in youth the hours fly, 

Bringing betimes to pleasure's cheek a glow, 
Betimes from wounded hearts the hopeless 
sigh. 

To-day we laugh, and sun ourselves in Joy, 
But e'er to-morrow 7 dawns that sun has set. 

To-day contentment beams without alloy, 
To-morrow finds us in cold Sorrow's debt. 

Cold Sorrow? Nay, we must not call her cold ; 

Sweetness she brings to many a barren life, 
Softness to many a hardened heart, and bold — 

Nay, reckless made because of ceaseless 
strife. 

The sweetest singers by the world adored, 
Whose tuneful lyres in hist'ry play a part, 

Were led by Sorrow's hand to where are stored 
The chords that touch the universal heart. 



MUSING. 2!> 

The tenderest hearts are those to sorrow wed, 
The sweetest roses in their bloom are crushed, 

The noblest spirits in their prime lie dead. 
The bitterest cries within our hearts are 
hushed. 

Sweet Sorrow ! At thy shrine awhile we pause 
To muse and murmur 'gainst this life of ours, 

Paying sad tribute unto thy great cause, 
Then on again to worship happier powers, 

Bending our knees at every wayside shrine, 
Chasing a phantom that we can not see, 

Sighing for visions fair that ever shine, 
But come not near till opes eternity. 





jflfc 



THE CORNER PORCH. 

Upon the dear old corner porch, 

Under its sheltering care, 
How oft in happy, joyous groups, 

We've breathed the summer air. 
With mirthful jest and merry song 

The hours flew charmed away, 
And days were bright and hearts were light 

And Pleasure held full sway. 

Upon the dear old corner porch. 



When moonlight's shimmering haze 



(30) 



THE CORNER PORCH. \\\ 

Was sifted downward thro 1 the trees, 
That watched our childish plays, 

We 've sat and sung in careless glee, 
And dreamed our youthful dreams. 

And longed to launch our trembling craft 
On Life's alluring streams. 

Thore merry groups are scattered all, 

For, in the swath of years, 
Who drank awhile from pleasure's cup 

Soon found it gemm'd with tears. 
Some sailed afar, and in strange lands 

Their wandering steps are led, 
And on the dear old corner porch 

Some laughed who now are dead. 

Some sang upon the corner porch, 

All heedless of the day 
When joy would turn to bitterness 

As flowers to decay. 
Some staked affection's garnered wealth 

In love's bright golden wheel, 
And lost, for life is full of strife, 

And dreams are never real. 

Some played upon the corner porch — 
Ah me, those hallowed hours, 

Secure and sweet are treasured up 
'Mong memory's fondest flowers. — 



32 THE CORNER PORCH. 

Who 've since attuned a stranger harp 

To sorrow's mournful lays, 
Whose trembling chords are answering words, 

That meet across life's ways. 

Upon the dear old corner porch 

As children we have played ; 
Upon the dear old corner porch 

Some tender vows were made. 
Around the dear old corner porch 

Our memories have cast 
A halo bright, that gilds for us 

The days forever past. 



MANY ARE CALLED. \\\\ 



-MANY ARE CALLED." 

My Lord bath called me to His vineyard— hear 
His low voice echo thro' the air so clear' 
My Lord hath called me, but the day is young, 
T fain would linger these sweet flowers among. 

My Lord hath called me— but the morn is fair, 
Its beauty lures me— shall I then compare 
The fleeting joys that hold my soul in thrall 
With work that waits me at His earnest call? 

My Lord hath called me— I am coming soon. 

I only wait until the heat of noon 

Is past. Then I shall meet His smile ; 

He will not miss me -I shall rest awhile. 

My Lord hath called me— lo '. the sun has gone ! 
The shadows lie where erst his rays had shone. 
Fain would I labor while the light doth last ; 
Fain would I labor— but the day is past ! 



34 



' MA X V A R E CALL ED. 



My Lord hath called me — and the eve is new, 
The long day faded with the falling dew. 
Still must I travel onward thro' the night. 
Lord, Thou hast called me. Help me in Thy 
might ! 



« 




A JUNE MORNING. 

On the soft grass Night's tears are resting 
lightly. 
And stealing onward comes the gentle 
Dawn ; 
With lingering footsteps like a timid maiden, 
Who in strange pathways wanders, wist- 
ful, on. 

The air is heavy with a vap'rous sadness, 
The subtle sorrow of the dying Night; 

Whose last faint breath on zephyr's wings borne 

forward 

Removes the veil that hides the sun's fair 

light. 

35 



36 A JUNE MORNING. 

Against the lightening sky the moon gleams 
palely, 
Her cold, bright charms eclipsed by morn- 
ing's King, 
Who, thro' the mists his way triumphant pierc- 
ing, 
Soon o'er the waiting earth his radiance 

flings. 

O fair June morning ! Type of life's sweet 
moments ! 
Brief as their fleeting beauty and as bright. 
Untouched by latent fear of storm or sorrow. 
Too soon thou 'rt ended, leaving starless 
night ! 



60 ME DAY. 



SOME DAY. 

Some day — some day, before this life is ended, 

Some bitter gloomful day, 
When pain and sorrow through the long years 
blended, 

Have swept my strength away ; 
When life's illusions in the distance fading, 

So specter-like and dim, 
Seem shadow-masts of that great ship whose 
lading 

Shall be my duty grim ; 
I know that I shall welcome Death and greet 
him — 

Not with youth's fearful face, 
But as a gentle friend, and haste to meet him, 

Freed from the world's embrace. 

Some day. it may be while alone and friend- 
less, 

No loving face I see, 
And the dark road that stretches off so endless 

(irows no small flower for me. 
When fainting by the way, my spirit lingers 

On thoughts of other days, 



38 SOME DA Y. 

'Whose specters, pointing with their fleshless 
fingers, 
But urge me on my way ; 
When gloomy, dark, the future towers o'er me, 

Life's pyramid so vast — 
Ah then shall Death, the Master, stand before 
me, 
And claim his own at last ! 




., "> 



V 



-m 




Blythe and gay and sweet and winsome, 
Careless, happy, bright and free, 

Always smiling, time beguiling, 
This is blue*-eyed Dorothy. 



Upstairs, downstairs, always running, 
Now to work and now to play, 

Always teasing, always pleasing, 
This is Dot the livelong day. 

39) 



40 DOROTHY. 

Out to romp with chosen playmates, 
In to see how Mamma fares, 

Always singing, comfort bringing, 
Lightening all the daily cares. 

Then when twilight comes, slow, stealing, 
With its soft and silent tread, 

Blue eyes closing, Dot is dozing, 
Drops to rest her curly head. 



THE POET'S SONG. 4 1 



THE POETS SONG. 



The Poet sung of love — his pulses stirred, 
His heart kept time to every tender word ; 
While Fancy conjured up a picture rare, 
The one, to him, of all the world most fair, 
Whose radiant smile for him alone beams sweet, 
Whose loving glances make his fond heart beat. 



11. 

The Poet sung of love — his glorious theme 
In answering hearts awoke a slumb'ring dream, 
And mem'ries sprung to life, whose radiance 

blest 
The somber present like a welcome guest ; 
And lingering still, as twilight deepens fast, 
Evoke the beauteous shades that graced the 

past. 

in. 

The Poet sung — but as his willing pen 
The sweet words traced that spake his love 
again, 



42 THE POET'S SONG. 

The light that shone in lifted eyes waxed dim. 
And all the world grew dark the while for him. 
Soon paean song was turned to sorrow's dirge, 
As grief's dark anchor did his soul submerge. 

IV. 

The Poet sung of Heav'n — and lo ! there fell 
Upon his spirit such a chastening spell, 
Such deep, full peace — such joy as angels feel, 
When forth their voices ring in glad appeal. 
And still his songs re-echo through the years, 
While hearts in sorrow read them o'er with 
tears. 





£ 



A SNOWY NIGHT. 

The snow still falls — the night is dark. 

The time drags weary footsteps on. 
Falls the white pall o'er all the earth — 

The earth that waits the coming dawn. 
Waited by some in joy and mirth, 

In happy homes — in stately halls. 
Waited by others but to bring 

More o-rief within their lowly walls. 

O J 



But ? t is a soft and gentle cloak. 

This white, mysterious snow of ours ; 

Closely it clasps the grimy earth 
In frozen folds of wintry showers. 

(43) 



44 A SNOWY NIGHT. 

Closely enfolding like a Fate. 

Whose solemn ways we can not gauge; 
But like a Fate whose advent brings 

A balm that can our griefs assuage. 



INCONSIS TENC Y— CO NT EN TMENT. 45 



rNCONSISTENCY. 

O weary days of Sorrow — weary days, 

When e'en the sun shines with a luster lack, 
You linger long, and still seem loth to go ; 
And when you go, we fain would call you 
back, 
To make our burdens greater with your woe, 
And plant your weeds 'mid pleasures shining 
bays. 



CONTENTMENT. 

Contentment! Precious gift that few possess! 
When we possess you, then we love you less; 
But when your balm our spirits sorely lack. 
Ah then we sigh for you and wish you back ! 
Some few do know you and a few possess, 
And some mistake you for kind happiness. 
( ) blest mistake to him who labors in it ! 
To feign content doth oft times help to win it ! 




THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. 

" Why stand' st thou idle here the long, long 
day; 
Why stand'st thou here where pillars thee 
concealed ? " 
Those words ? woke echoes in my heart to play 
Upon the chords which conscience left re- 
vealed. 



Why stand'st thou idle here, why waste the 
time 
Which for His purposes the Lord hath lent 
thee? 

(4(5) 



THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. 47 

The hill of life is yet for thee to climb ; 

Begin thy work, else all too late, repent 
thee ! 

Thy burdens may be many — yes, 'tis true, 
But why shouldst thou exempt from bur- 
dens be? 
Wouldst careless walk whilst all thy brethren 
sue 
For help, their way thro' dark'ning clouds 
to see? 

Why like the Pharisee stand'st thou afar, 

Thanking thy God (stifling thy rising qualms) 

That thou needst not thy peaceful lot to mar, 
By wailing prayers and penitential psalms? 

Canst thou remember not those warning words, 

Which with great love thy Lord hath sent to 

thee? 

Hast never to its depths thy soul been stirred ? 

" Who humbleth himself shall yet exalted be ! " 

Ah soul, so erring in poor human lights, 

Which still the image of thy Maker beareth ; 

Retrace thy straying steps — a pathway bright. 
Choose, and Him seek who for thy welfare 
careth. 



48 THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. 

Doubt not, that He who notes a sparrow's fall 
Canst see thy fainting spirit helpless stand. 

Doubt not, that at thy earliest, earnest call, 
He will outreach to thee a helping hand. 



DK/CAMS. 4«) 



DREAMS. 

We dream fair dreams by night — 
Day comes and swift they vanish. 

They go, but leave behind a light, 
That sunshine can not banish. 

Their shadows linger in the air — 
Their impress — what you will. 

And tho' the dreams have flown fore'er, 
Their beauty mocks us still. 




s* 






UNREST. 

Play me a tender tune to night, 

My spirit longs for rest. 
Repose hath fled mine eyelids quite, 

Play softly — that is best. 



Play me a tender tune to-night, 
Its cadence sweet and slow, 

(50) 



UNREST. 51 

Will fall upon my weary heart 
Like love-words whispered low. 

Play me a tune in minor chords, 

And let the sweet refrain 
Steal thro' my listening senses, 

Like happiness thro' pain. 

For in thro' the murmuring music 

The plaintive air will creep, 
Like the chorus that surges ever 

From the heart of the briny deep. 

And as the monotoned murmur, 

From the depths of the sea that springs, 

Has balm in its deeper music 

To loosen the bound heart-strings, 

So the soft-toned minors blended 
With the sad and mournful air, 

Will bring to the soul a message 
Of peace that is like a prayer. 

So play me a tender tune to-night, 

Play softly, sweet and slow. 
And phantom thoughts will glide away 

With the music's ebb and flow. 












THE SLEEPER. 

Across the cool, dim chamber, the deepening 

twilight stole, 
The sun had long since sunk to rest within a 

crimson bowl. 
Swathed in the rising moonlight the quiet 

sleeper lay 
Asleep at last — a dreamless sleep — to last with 

her for ave ! 



01' 



THE SLEEPER. 53 

Asleep at last ! No phantom dreams disturb 

thy slumbers now ! 
Sin and the world have writ their last upon 

that marble brow ! 
The saddened impress of the years that found 

and left thee young, 
A blighted life — a broken heart — a requiem 

unsung ! 

Hovering above that lonely couch with droop- 
ing wings outspread, 

An angel of thy childish days keeps watch 
above thy head ; 

And chanting low the record of those gentlier, 
happier years, 

He drops upon thy flitting soul his cleansing, 
pitying tears. 

O wasted life ! Fit type art thou of dreams 
that fade away, 

And life's alluring blandishments, that live but 
for a day ; 

And hopes that bloom and promise fair, yet 
like thee die too soon, 

As dies the pale young primrose with the wan- 
ing of the moon. 



54 THE SLEEPER. 

O fair pale form ! G dead cold face ! Calm 

now in Death's embrace, 
Too soon thy feet grew weary in life's mad 

and bitter race ; 
Too soon thy gentle spirit broke — too soon thy 

strength s^ave way ! 
Alas, that such things e'er must be as long as 

life holds sway! 

So let us weep about thy couch before thou'rt 

laid away, 
And violets plant above the mound that hides 

thy lonely clay ; 
Praying that winds like zephyrs light may ever 

gently sweep 
Around that small and lowly home where thou 

dost peaceful sleep. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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